Mergers & Matrimony

by Leigh, Allison

  He bent over her as he helped her out of her seat. She stumbled a little, resting her head against his shoulder, tossing in a pitiful moan for good measure.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered as he half carried, half walked her toward the door.

  “Hush.”

  He did, until they were closed in the relative privacy of Shiguro Taka’s office.

  Jack dumped her on a chair. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Helen straightened her jacket. “Did you want to continue that farce of a meeting? There was no other way we could call a halt without—”

  “—causing offense.” He exhaled roughly. “I feel like we’ve taken two months’ worth of work and tossed it out the damned window. What did you do with Mori last night, anyway, that he blew off the meeting today?”

  She hated the defensiveness that swelled inside her. But she wasn’t sure that she hadn’t done something to set today’s debacle in motion.

  “I didn’t do anything with him,” she said truthfully. “You know as much about Mori’s whereabouts today as I do.” And getting angry served no good purpose. “I didn’t know what else to do at the meeting, all right? If we were at home, I would have just said it was time to break, but you know that doesn’t work here. Shiguro would take it as a sign of weakness on our part or a lack of respect for TAKA, or both. Either way, we’d be on the short end of the stick. But if they think I’m unwell, it’s an excuse we can all forgive.”

  “You think they believed that little act of yours? You may be good at gaining the interest of wealthy men, Helen, but you are no actress.”

  She stomped down the pain inside her. She’d been acting for months and nobody had even known it. “It doesn’t matter if they believed it or not, Jack. The point is, we’re not going to let Shiguro call the shots, and he’ll have gotten that message today, without having his nose rubbed in it.”

  “Games,” Jack snapped. “It’s playing games.”

  “Negotiations are a game,” Helen said tiredly. Lord knew that George had taught her that quite well. “It’s just one where the stakes involve more than a gold-plated trophy.”

  He raked his hand through his hair and paced the confines of Shiguro’s office. It was surprisingly modest in size. “Now what do we do? Hang around for the next few hours waiting for them to get some doctor in here?”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll only be a few minutes before they’ll send someone in to check on us. We’ll apologize most sincerely for the inconvenience I am causing and reschedule the sit-down. No harm, no foul.”

  He looked highly dissatisfied with the entire matter.

  She couldn’t blame him.

  She wasn’t feeling particularly satisfied with anything at the moment, either.

  “If this merger falls through this late, Hanson won’t be able to recover.”

  How well she knew that. “Hanson wouldn’t have recovered if it had fallen through earlier, either, Jack.”

  He stared out the window, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Nice of my father to leave us with this mess, with no warning, no plans for how to save it all.”

  He’d had a plan, all right, Helen answered silently. Her headache seemed to worsen at the thought, and when Shiguro arrived with a physician in tow—one who spoke not one word of English—she didn’t have to work very hard at feigning illness at all.

  Helen sat there portraying “wan” and the men organized her return to her hotel, just as she’d known they would. And Jack, bless his heart, insisted on accompanying her, when Shiguro suggested resuming the meeting without her.

  The man was not pleased, and as she spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alone in her hotel suite, going over the latest reports from Chicago, she couldn’t help but wonder if Shiguro was suddenly manipulating things on his own accord, or if he’d been instructed to do so by the absent Mori.

  She was sleeping when the phone rang.

  She sat up with a start, blinking at the bright reading lamp beside the couch where she’d dozed off.

  The clock read 2:00 a.m.

  The phone rang again and she snatched it up, alarm in her voice. “Yes?”

  “I heard you were feeling poorly.”

  The adrenaline pulsing through her abated slightly. Spread across the coffee table were the reports she’d been studying all evening.

  They’d lulled her to sleep.

  “Helen? Are you there?”

  “I’m here. Mori? What are you calling at this hour for? Is there a problem?”

  “You tell me.”

  She rubbed her hand down her face, trying to jump start her sluggish brain. “Where were you today?”

  “My father-in-law died.”

  Shock provided more than the necessary spark to her brain. “Good heavens. I’m so sorry. Shiguro didn’t say anything about it.”

  “I have heard reports from the meeting.”

  She could only guess what sort of slant they’d have if they’d been provided by his brother. And, she still wasn’t convinced that Mori hadn’t set up the entire thing—though it seemed oddly backhanded for a man who’d been perfectly upfront about his objections in the past.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He was silent for a moment, as if her question surprised him. “Why would I not be?”

  “Your wife’s father?”

  “It was…not unexpected. I did expect Shiguro to reschedule the meeting.”

  “You did?”

  “He and my father believed it was more important to proceed.”

  The father with whom she knew Mori was often at odds. “I’m afraid we didn’t get much accomplished.”

  “Because you were taken ill.”

  She covered her eyes with her hand, unable to form the lie. “Was it your decision to reduce our board positions from three to one?”

  “The physician my brother provided. Was he helpful?”

  In other words, no, the reduction hadn’t been his idea. If it had been his decision, he would have just said so. But he couldn’t very well tell her that his brother had chosen to act without his approval.

  “The doctor was very solicitous,” she assured him. “Will you be needing to change the scheduled meetings, then? Because of your loss?”

  “It would mean a delay of a week or longer.”

  Better a delay than to give Shiguro another opportunity to press his own agenda. “Then we will have a small delay,” Helen said. “How is your daughter? Was she close to her grandfather?”

  “She is back at school. Brown-haired again and broken-hearted over that more than the loss of a man she barely knew.”

  “Did your wife have siblings?”

  “No. I am the closest family member. Sumiko’s mother will need my assistance. I’ll be in Takayama for several days.”

  “Of course. Mori, I am sorry. I’m glad you called.”

  “I should have waited until a more suitable hour to speak with you.”

  Why hadn’t he? She badly wanted to ask, but refrained. “It’s fine that you called me now.”

  “You were awake?”

  “Well, no. But that’s all right.”

  “I startled you.”

  He’d startled the life out of her. She couldn’t get a call at such an hour anymore and not be reminded of the night she’d been phoned with the news that George had suffered a heart attack in his office. “A little,” she admitted. “But I’m still glad that you called.”

  There was no denying the personal nature of his doing so, though. “Is…is there anything I can do?” She knew the offer sounded ridiculous. She was a gaijin—a foreigner in his country. A person with whom he was associated only because of business purposes. Her question made about as much sense as him calling at such a late hour.

  “No. Thank you.”

  She stared at her bare feet, hesitant to bid him the good-night that would be the sensible course. “So, Kimiko’s hair is back to normal. Did the tat wash off?”

  “Tat? Ah. T
he flag. Yes. It is gone. I am keeping you from your sleep,” he said abruptly.

  Since she’d met Mori, her sleep had been interrupted by him. He just wasn’t privy to that fact. “Well, good night, then.”

  “Kombanwa.”

  Helen hung up the phone. She didn’t shut off the light and move to the bedroom, though, until she realized she was picturing Mori sitting on his end, staring at the phone the same way she’d been.

  She hadn’t brought very many personal items with her to Tokyo. Only clothes and accessories that she would need to get through the meetings with TAKA.

  But she had brought her jewelry case.

  Not the enormous locking monstrosity that George had once insisted she use to store the jewelry he liked her to wear when it wasn’t in the safe, but a much smaller, simple wooden box. She lifted the lid.

  Once, the box had contained only letters. Unsent letters that she’d written to her daughter. One every year since her birth.

  Jenny had those letters now. Reading them had helped to show her that she hadn’t been unloved by her natural mother. That Helen hadn’t shunted her off as a baby to the quickest taker just because it was the easiest solution for Helen.

  Now, the jewelry box contained one narrow tray, partially filled with Helen’s few necklaces and bracelets—and a dried leaf that she had kept for reasons that still escaped her.

  But it wasn’t any of those that drew Helen. It was the single folded sheet of paper beneath the tray.

  She pulled it out. Unfolded the weighty stationery. Embossed at the top were George’s initials.

  Such familiar paper.

  She’d given the stationery to him for their last anniversary, along with the gold pen she now used.

  Quite a testament to one’s marriage, wasn’t it? A gift of personalized stationery and an engraved pen.

  There had been no romantic evening for them to celebrate. Those had gone by the wayside years earlier, about the same time that George had told her he was not interested in having a baby with her, after all.

  Back then, she’d blamed his decision on weariness over their failure to conceive, despite availing themselves of every conceivable technological advance in the area.

  Now, Helen knew better when it came to George’s motives. Their life together hadn’t been based on love, at all. Not even from the beginning.

  She unfolded the letter, her fingers smoothing along the creases.

  Helen, it began. Not even a dear, or my darling to soften the words to come.

  Helen,

  I knew when we met that you’d make me an admirable wife. Beauty and intelligence is an appealing combination, so despite your modest beginnings, I knew your presence at my side would serve me well. The smartest thing I did was to marry you. I’ve watched you these years and you’ve never failed in meeting the purposes for which I chose you, whether it was charming my associates or hosting my friends. You were disappointed that I didn’t publicly avail myself of your business acumen—the very thing that brought you into my world when you were nothing but a bright intern—but that didn’t stop you from offering your thoughts all these years, even when they were unasked for. You have tenacity, Helen. And grit. I’ve always liked that about you. But now, you’ll have to use those traits to undo what I’ve done. I always knew you’d outlive me, Helen. If you’re reading this, then you’ll know I was right in my thinking. Now I’m trusting you to take care of Hanson Media. You’ll know what to do when the time comes.

  It’s all I have to give the boys, even though they never seemed much to want it. Maybe, as they get older, they’ll be smarter than their old man, and put value where it is due.

  Now, there’s only one thing left for you to do, Helen.

  Save the only thing that matters to me: Hanson Media.

  It was signed, simply, George.

  She could have recited the words by heart, so often had she made herself read it since she’d found it—sealed and addressed to her along with the pen he’d probably used to write it—waiting for her to discover in his personal papers at the office.

  But the one word that the letter did not contain, the one word that would have meant the world to her, was the one he’d deliberately withheld.

  Love.

  George hadn’t married her because he’d loved her. He’d married her for just exactly the things people had whispered.

  Her youth.

  Her looks.

  Her intelligence, which he only wanted in evidence when they were in private.

  It hadn’t been love that prompted him to sweep her off her feet when she’d been a lonely intern with a fresh MBA. It had been his calculated mind that had seen which attributes would best serve his needs that had motivated their marriage. Unfortunately, Helen’s love for him had blinded her to the truth. George hadn’t really wanted her as a wife. She’d been a trophy because she’d allowed him to make her one. Yet he’d died trusting that she would be able to pull his company out of the fire.

  She folded the letter and shoved it back in the box, flipping the lid closed. There were times she wished she’d burned the letter. Set a flame to it and watched it go up in smoke, just the way she’d felt the marriage she’d committed herself to out of love had gone up in smoke.

  But she was what George said she was.

  Tenacious.

  Only now she had to prove to herself that she wasn’t only what George had made of her—a wife chosen for her assets, rather than her heart.

  If she had to work with TAKA in order to do that, she would. But once Hanson Media was secure again, joined at the hip with the juggernaut that TAKA was, she’d be happy never to think again of the man who hadn’t loved her, after all, or his company.

  Chapter Six

  “You have a visitor, Helen.”

  Helen dragged her focus out of the month-ends and looked up. Her assistant, Sonia Townsley, stood in the doorway of her office. “I thought my only appointment was later.”

  “It is. Three-thirty with the broker who wants to list your house.”

  Helen pressed her fingers to her temple. She hadn’t made up her mind yet what she would do with the house. But Darryl Waters was an old friend of George who’d been pushing for the listing. Since she was back in Chicago while Mori handled his father-in-law’s matters, she’d agreed to discuss the matter with the broker, but only discuss. “Then who is here?”

  Sonia slipped into the office, looking almost clandestine. “Morito Taka,” she whispered.

  Helen stared. “What?” She hadn’t spoken with Mori since the night he’d called about his father-in-law, a week earlier. Because of the delay in negotiations, she’d decided to return to Chicago to attend to matters there while Jack and Samantha had remained in Tokyo.

  “Not what. Who. Morito Taka.” Sonia waggled her hand in front of her. “And if I might say so…holy cow. Wow.” She collected herself when Helen just waited. “Everything is in such a mess up here that I put him in the conference room.”

  What would Mori be doing in Chicago? Unannounced, yet?

  “Helen?”

  She realized she was staring at the round fishbowl on the corner of her desk. The Betta seemed to be staring back at her as he slowly swished his brilliant blue tail. He’d arrived by courier a few days after her return.

  A gift from Mori. A gift for which she worked hard at not placing too much importance. The Japanese were notorious for gift giving. The fish was nothing more than a polite courtesy. Nothing more significant than the collection of funky hair ornaments that she’d sent to him for Kimiko.

  “The conference room is fine,” she said.

  “He’ll want a tour, I suppose. I can give the departments a heads-up.”

  “Of course. Right. Good idea.” She stood and smoothed back her hair as Sonia headed to the door. “No. Wait.”

  Her assistant stopped, her eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

  Why would he make such an unprecedented visit? Was it another attempt to call off the merger?
<
br />   Just because the final negotiations had been temporarily halted, did that mean he wanted to halt them permanently?

  She looked at the fish, her mind teeming. Mori the man. Mori the opposition. Which was real? Which did she trust?

  She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the sight of the exquisite fish. The debate going on inside her head wasn’t so easily avoided.

  “Don’t call anyone,” she said. “Mr. Taka will have his tour. There’s nothing at Hanson that isn’t up to snuff.” She tugged the hem of her jacket and headed out the door. “Don’t worry, Sonia,” she assured. “Go back to what you were doing. And call Darryl for me to reschedule.”

  “Shouldn’t I call Evan or Andrew? Or David?”

  “There’s nothing to call them about,” Helen said. “If Mori thinks he’s going to find us less than prepared, he’s wrong. Period.”

  Sonia looked uneasy, but she nodded, and Helen made her way to the conference room.

  Despite the several days since she’d last seen Mori in Tokyo, the sight of him still had her catching her breath. He was standing at the window, looking out.

  She moistened her lips, wishing she’d taken a few minutes just to freshen her lipstick, then was annoyed at her own insecure vanity.

  She straightened her shoulders and entered the room. “Mori. This is a surprise.”

  He turned. As always, he wore a suit. This one was a dove gray that ought to have given him a more approachable look than his typical black. It didn’t. He was as unreasonably attractive as ever, too.

  “Not an unwelcome surprise, I hope,” he replied smoothly.

  “Of course not.” She crossed the carpet toward him, hand extended, which he shook. Thankfully, the disturbing contact was brief. “Quite the opposite,” she assured, hoping she wasn’t telling a blatant lie. “It will be a pleasure to finally show you our shop here.”

  “The reports from my associates who have been here have always been most complimentary.” His voice was so diplomatic she had the sudden urge to laugh. She knew good and well that his associates had returned to him every nitpicking detail about the Chicago office in order to increase TAKA’s bargaining power and decrease Hanson’s.